


Little Town of Wayhaven

by lovinglydull



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Gen, one shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 13:39:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13742076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovinglydull/pseuds/lovinglydull
Summary: When I feel inspired, I'll probably put down a fic here involving one of my Wayhaven MCs doing... well, stuff in general.





	1. Elena Walsh: Homework

I heard the knock on my door, although I was sure it wasn’t the first knock. When I get deep enough in one of these moods, it’s nigh-impossible to shake me out of it. But, a combination of hunger and the ever-increasing volume of the knocking did indeed shake me out of it. A quick glance at my phone clarified that it was two-thirty-five PM. My first thought was that it was the pizza arriving in a fairly timely manner, but I quickly came to the conclusion that to would be far more likely for me to be stuck in some paranormal romance novel if the alternative was the one pizza shop in town actually displaying a modicum of competence.

Where was I? Ah, yes. At home, in sweatpants and an undershirt, surrounded by hand-scrawled notes connecting this clue and that in some horrible mess that only I would be able to decipher, with an increasingly impatient visitor knocking on my door. That’s where I am. Sometimes, it seems like that’s where I always am.

“Just a minute,” I half-shout, slipping a plain gray tank-top fresh off of the floor and onto my person. Laundry took time and energy I didn’t have right now. It always seemed like I had a boundless well of energy when it came to work, but it all came crashing down when other responsibilities reared their ugly head.

Speaking of head-rearing, I stumbled my way over to the door on half-asleep legs and undid all but the chain lock on the door. This display of keeping the door locked in spite of opening it would make anyone seem like an unreasonable paranoiac, but since there’s a serial killer about and a bunch of adolescent troublemakers painted over the peephole on my door six months ago, I feel like I deserve a bit of leeway in that department.

Unfortunately for me, the one at the door was simply one of my “colleagues” as I referred to them in polite company. Fortunately, Nate Sewell wasn’t the worst person to be approaching my door today. I would say “most tolerable” when it came to the evasive and barely-professional louts that I worked with. But just because you tolerate someone doesn’t mean you expect them to show up to your door while you are in a state of semi-undress, without warning.”

His trademark calming smile was up. “Nice to see you today, Detective.”

My trademark deadpan replied, “You have ten seconds to give me a reason to not close this door.”

Without missing a beat, “I’m here to talk about the team.”

The next few seconds seemed to stretch on. I really didn’t want anyone in my apartment right now. But it didn’t seem like I had a choice in the matter. So I simply held up a finger to indicate it was time to wait, closed the door, and undid the final lock.

I want to get this straight. I don’t let people into my apartment. I’ve been living alone for the past four years, and in all that time, I haven’t had friends over. It’s barely furnished, let alone welcoming to visitors. And especially with the way I’ve been absorbed in my notes lately, it was a mess. So when a man I only knew in a professional sense walked into my apartment, I was involuntarily struck by a sense that I needed to scrub every square inch of the apartment with bleach.

I didn’t do that, of course, but the sentiment was there.

To Nate’s credit, he didn’t draw attention to the fact that the main room of my studio apartment looked like the hideout of a domestic terrorist, and he proceeded to speak. “I know that friction with the team is still persisting.”

I idly gather together my notes as I speak, trying my best to look like I honestly give a damn about the state of my apartment. “Friction is caused by objects making contact. That’s why I’m trying my best to give everyone some space.”

I could see Nate attempt to find a seat out of the corner of my eye, his smile dropping a bit as he realized there was nowhere to sit except the futon in the corner, and the chair next to my bite-sized desk. He finally gave up. “Space is not the issue. The issue seems to be respect, more than anything.”

“Respect is a mutual burden.” I stand, leaning against the separating wall for the kitchenette. “I’m not going to shift all the burden onto myself, when I already have enough to worry about.”

Nate’s expression shifted, no less calm but definitely less of a smile. “You’re not without respect, Detective Walsh. Felix can seem a bit too lackadaisical at times, but I can tell he respects your judgement. Mason is simply how he is. Adam, I believe, simply sees too much of himself in you.”

My eyebrows go up. I try to not think I’m as insufferable as Adam can be. But I’m fairly certain he and I are in the same category. “If this is all supposed to reassure me, Sewell, it doesn’t.”

The smile comes back, and he takes a step forward. “If it helps, I respect you.”

A slow, deep breath. “And… I respect you, as well.” The compliment leaves me uneasily, as if I suffered a paper cut as I tried to utter the words. My pride is a terrible disability at times.

Nate’s eyes flick over to the papers I’ve assembled on the desk, before resting back on me. “And, if you don’t mind, may I make a personal request?”

My jaw tightened a bit at that. I didn’t exactly find Nate or his coworkers to be physically unattractive, and my mind wasn’t in the right place right now, so my mind wandered to places it probably shouldn’t have. I simply nodded at his question.

“I can tell you’re stretching yourself thin.” He gestured to my cluttered desk. “Put the work away for the night, and get some sleep. You’re useless to this town if you burn yourself out on work.”

Once more, a nod. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

Thankfully, a knock came on the door. That should be the pizza. I calmly scooped up my wallet, and headed to the door. “I didn’t plan on entertaining guests, but feel free to help yourself to a slice of pizza.”

I paused before I reached the door, and turned around. “Only one slice. More than that, I cut your hand off.”

And in that moment, Nate had that small spark of genuine amusement in his smile.


	2. Raymond Chandler: Promotion?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A one-shot mainly to show off Ray's personality, when he isn't trying to act macho.

“Of all the bakeries in all the towns in all the world, he had to walk into mine.” I punctuate my smooth Humphrey Bogart impersonation by doffing my hat as I enter the bakery. I don’t exactly have the magnetism of Bogart, but I do manage to elicit a chuckle from Haley, so that’s worth something.

“Another big day on the beat?” Haley hastily wipes the flour from her hands as she speaks.

“As big a day as it can get for a glorified errand boy.”I step forward, leaning on the counter and staring into the display case. “Other than that vandalism three days ago, my week has consisted of filing paperwork, fetching Detective Reele’s coffee, and picking up the chief’s dry cleaning. Also, if it’s not too much trouble, may I have a coffee and croissant?”

The conversation continues as I buy my much-needed caffeine and carbs. “Police work not working out for you?”

“I mean… when I’m actually doing good for my community, I love it. I feel like I really am ‘keeping the Queen’s peace.’ But when my work boils down to me making sure the Chief doesn’t miss his golf game, or making sure Douglas doesn’t have to do actual work,” I take a bite of the croissant, nearly inhaling it before I continue, “I wonder what I’m even doing there.”

Before Haley can reply, my phone begins to ring. Great. There are three people who call me with any hint of regularity. Mum, the chief, and my ex, Bobby. A two in three chance of something unpleasant, like a stacked game of Russian Roulette. I didn’t exactly have the choice of not answering my phone in two of those three cases, as well, so…

Consuming the rest of the croissant in three hearty bites, I pull out my phone. Yep, it’s the chief. “Apologies, Haley, I need to take this.”

“Understood, Raymond. Take your time.”

With that, I step out into The Square, accept the call, and brace for impact. “Officer Chandler speaking.”

“Chandler, it’s a good thing that I reached you. How would you like a promotion?”

I don’t want to say I’m speechless, but I’m getting there. “Wh – I mean – I… yes? Yes!”

I could hear the chief clearing his throat on the line. “Don’t get too worked up. Detective Reele will start your training next Tuesday, and I plan on making you a detective by the end of the year. Take the rest of the day off to celebrate.”

It seems too good to be true. A detective? Me? I’ve been in the police department for barely a year, and suddenly, I’m moving up.

I make my way back into the bakery, trying my hardest to not look too excited. I think I failed.

Haley comes out again. “Well? What now?”

“What now?” I say, trying my best to channel John Nettles, “I’m going to have my cake and eat it.”

The reference flies over Haley’s head, if the sudden look of confusion in her eyes is any indication.

I fumble more than a bit attempting to explain it myself. “Well, it’s the last line Tom Barnaby says, before… before he retires. It – it’s a Midsomer Murders quote.”

Haley just nods at this point, reinforcing the fact that I have just made further conversation awkward for all involved.

I cough a bit, and shift my gaze around. “Also, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like an espresso biscuit for the road.”


End file.
